Love Song for a Psychopath
by Lys ap Adin
Summary: After Touou ends its run for the Winter Cup, Imayoshi seeks solitude and peace of mind. He does not find either. Imayoshi and Hanamiya and some really rough sex.


**Title:** Love Song for a Psychopath  
**Characters/Pairings:** Imayoshi and Hanamiya  
**Summary:** After Touou ends its run for the Winter Cup, Imayoshi seeks solitude and peace of mind. He does not find either.  
**Notes:** Adult for smut; written for Porn Battle XV. Rough sex, a rather more introspective and melancholy Imayoshi than usual; beware of Feels. 2492 words and no happy endings here.

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**Love Song for a Psychopath**

There was an approximation of a basketball court that Shouichi happened to like visiting. It wasn't much more than a few square meters of blacktop tucked into a blind alley between two apartment buildings, with a battered and weather-worn backboard whose net consisted of a few rusting chains dangling from the hoop. Shouichi was reasonably certain he was the only person who ever played on it. That suited him just fine, because he only ever took himself to that little street court when he was in sore need of some peace and quiet and a place where he could shoot baskets until the burn of lactic acid in his muscles forced him to stop or he'd worked his way through whatever turmoil was disrupting his tranquility, whichever came first.

He retreated to this court after all was said and done, the club handed over to Wakamatsu and the goodbyes said and the immediate storm of emotions weathered and spent. Now there was only him and the incontrovertible facts that Touou had lost to Seirin and that his tenure as captain to that team had come to an end right along with their chance at winning the tournament.

Shouichi made basket after basket, falling into the mindless repetition of a lay-up drill. He did not try to fool himself that he was at all satisfied with that outcome, even if it had looked like Aomine had walked away from the game with his head finally pulled out of his ass. That was just dandy for _him_, to be sure, but from Shouichi's purely objective perspective, it was pretty hard luck for the rest of them.

That was what came of naming a pack of brats _miracles_, though. It was just begging the universe to sit up and take note and maybe bend itself around them, like a rubber sheet wrapping around a heavy weight.

No. That wasn't entirely fair; Shouichi made a practice of being scrupulously honest with himself. He grimaced as the ball rebounded off the hoop and caught it. There was complaining about how hard life around a miraculous brat could be, and then there was the fact that he hadn't exerted himself much about pulling the brat's head out of his ass. Not after the initial effort. If anyone were in fact culpable for their loss, then it was the guy who hadn't done his job and knocked some sense into Aomine's head by any means necessary _before_ the important tournament.

Shouichi launched his basketball at the hoop; as it swished through the rusty net with a jingle, he faced up to that conclusion and accepted it. "Well, damn," he said out loud, over the sound of the basketball hitting the blacktop and bouncing into the corner where the back wall of the alley butted up against one of the looming apartment buildings.

"Have you raised your standards so high that even nothing but net won't satisfy them, senpai?"

Shouichi did not permit himself to tense at the familiar voice and its lilt of caustic sweetness; nor did he permit himself to repeat his curse, though it was certainly appropriate. He turned and smiled at the figure lounging at the head of the alley, backlit by the street lamps. "Hanamiya-kun. My goodness, what an unexpected pleasure to see you this evening."

Hanamiya slouched into the alley with him, hands stuffed into his pockets. "I couldn't stay away, now could I?" Shouichi could see his smile as he came closer, honey-sweet and concerned. "You've had such a rough day and all, I thought I ought to swing by and offer my comfort in your time of need."

There was no point in asking how Hanamiya had known where to find him; he'd probably known about this retreat since shortly after Shouichi had discovered it himself. "As if you'd ever do a thing like that."

Hanamiya smiled at him, sharp. "You wound me, senpai. How can you think such hateful things about me?"

How indeed, Shouichi thought, keeping a close eye on his erstwhile kouhai. "Oh, you know how it is. It's been so long since we've been in touch. I wasn't sure you still cared."

Hanamiya laughed and sidled past him; Shouichi turned to watch him as he strolled over to the basketball and picked it up. "I don't know how that could even be a question." He set the ball to spinning on his finger and smiled over it. "You _know_ just how much I admire and respect you."

"Oh, yes, I am intimately aware of precisely how much respect you have for me," Shouichi said, dry. "I reckon you've demonstrated it more times than I can count."

Hanamiya smiled at him and tossed the ball over his shoulder. It rebounded off the backboard and sank through the hoop; even Aomine couldn't have done it more smoothly. As always, Shouichi's breath caught at just how much sheer _talent_ Hanamiya possessed. "If you know that, then of course you know I just couldn't stay away when you might be distressed, senpai." Hanamiya came closer; his smile gleamed in the low light in the alley. "I know just how much you _care_."

"Of course you do," Shouichi said, casual, as though he hadn't spent a whole year inculcating his brilliant kouhai with all the reasons there were to love their sport, only to see him turn around and systematically set fire to each of those reasons and then piss on the ashes. "You always were an apt pupil."

"I did my best," Hanamiya murmured, feigning modesty so perfectly that even a fellow who knew better could almost be deceived by it. He peered at Shouichi. "Did you cry very much, senpai?"

"I don't know, Hanamiya-kun. You played them before we did," Shouichi drawled, deliberately amused. "How much did _you_ cry? I seem to recall that their victory over you was a thorough one. And after you took so much trouble over them, too."

Hanamiya's expression twisted for a split second, betraying his rage, though it was anyone's guess whether it was for the reminder or for Seirin themselves. "As if I'd care about a thing like that!"

Shouichi nodded, showing sympathy. "It's better that way. Your team's record of losses would be hard on a person who preferred to win."

"Fuck you, our record is _excellent_," Hanamiya hissed before recovering himself somewhat. "Not that you have any room to talk, senpai."

Shouichi sucked on his teeth and then smiled at him. "Well, now, I think you're wrong about that. We actually did qualify for the Winter Cup—in a year when they just about let any old team into the tournament—_and_ we placed second in this year's Interhigh. Where did you place, again?"

Time was when he'd believed that his ability to get under Hanamiya's skin was a good thing and meant that they shared a connection—that there were things Hanamiya _did_ care about and think important. That delusion was long behind him these days. Now Shouichi was resigned to it when Hanamiya lunged for him, teeth bared, and used the momentum of his charge to spin him and pin him up against the closest wall. The impact knocked the air out of Hanamiya's lungs with an audible _whoosh_. Shouichi took the precaution of pinning Hanamiya's hands against the bricks before he'd recovered. He clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Now I _know_ I taught you better manners than that."

"You didn't teach me anything," Hanamiya spat breathlessly, glaring at him.

For once, he'd actually said something that was true, Shouichi reflected, smiling over the bleak humor of it. "Just what was it you came here looking for?" he asked. "Were you looking to gloat? Well, we lost. So what? We played the best damn game we could, all things considered, and there's nothing to be ashamed of there. Gloat if you want, I don't care. At least my team didn't have to resort to cheating to have even a hope of winning."

Hanamiya had recovered his breath; he began to strain against Shouichi's hands. "You're still spouting that crap about sportsmanship, senpai?" In his mouth, the title sound more like an obscenity than anything else. "Still trying to pretend that shit means something?"

"There's no pretending to it," Shouichi told him, though he knew better than to believe that Hanamiya would hear him, much less understand what he was saying.

Hanamiya laughed. "Says the most ruthless bastard in the region."

"That's what you never did understand, brat," Shouichi sighed. "You can play a good game without showing any mercy. That's half of what makes a game good, when you can't hold back if you want to win."

Hanamiya opened his mouth and then stopped, frowning, apparently struck by something. "Then what the hell do you want to sneer at our game for? We're just trying our best—" He broke off into a fit of laughter. "Aw, fuck, I can't even say it with a straight face."

Shouichi ignored the little twist of regret—he knew better than to expect any sort of comprehension on Hanamiya's part. "That's why you're never going to amount to anything," he said, slow and deliberate. "Crownless General or not, you're always going to be the worst player in the whole country, because your soul has a hole in it that nothing is ever going to fill."

Hanamiya grinned at him. "You're turning into a _poet_, senpai. I had no idea." His grin turned sharper, glittering like a scalpel. "It just eats you up inside, doesn't it? You just can't stand how badly you failed me, can you? I bet you lie awake at nights, thinking up ways you could have fixed me." He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "But guess what, senpai? I _like_ being broken."

"I know," Shouichi told him. "I made my peace with that a long time ago."

"Liar," Hanamiya said. "You're never going to be done with me." He leaned forward and sank his teeth into Shouichi's lip.

Shouichi dearly wanted to be able to tell Hanamiya how wrong he was, but that was impossible to do when all the old habits flared back to life in response to the edge of Hanamiya's teeth. He growled at the sting and pressed against Hanamiya, pinning him against the wall and kissing him, brutally hard, to muffle the sound of Hanamiya's laughter. Hanamiya didn't return the kiss so much as he bit at Shouichi's mouth until he could taste the metallic edge of blood in every movement of his lips against Hanamiya's. It put the same fire in his blood that it always had, aided by the day's disappointments and frustrations.

He ground his hips against Hanamiya's as he gathered Hanamiya's hands together and pinned them to the wall over his head, holding him there. He dropped his freed hand between them, undoing Hanamiya's slacks and shoving them down his hips, and then pulled away from his mouth. "Turn around," Shouichi ordered.

Hanamiya smiled at him, lips swollen. "Are you going to fuck me?" he asked, his eyes burning with triumph.

"_Turn around_," Shouichi repeated, shoving at his shoulder and loosening his grip on Hanamiya's wrists just enough to let him turn in place. He pinned them against the brick immediately; Hanamiya laughed until Shouichi pressed his fingers against his lips. "Suck on them," he said, harsh.

Hanamiya hummed. "You're such a bastard, senpai," he crooned. "Just like me."

"You wish," Shouichi said and shoved his fingers past Hanamiya's lips.

Hanamiya made a sound like stifled laughter and sucked, passing his tongue over Shouichi's fingers, all slick and slow and obscene. Shouichi sucked in an unsteady breath and sank his teeth into the flesh of Hanamiya's neck, biting down hard to keep himself silent. Hanamiya moaned, hips flexing, and moaned again when Shouichi reached down and pressed slick fingers into him. He always had liked it rough; that much hadn't changed in the slightest. Shouichi drove his fingers deep, working them hard against Hanamiya's body. "Fuck, senpai," Hanamiya gasped, rocking his hips back against Shouichi's fingers. "Fuck, why are you so _mean_?"

"Shut up," Shouichi said, twisting his fingers inside him.

Hanamiya laughed, ragged. "Make me."

"Fine," Shouichi said. He shoved his track pants down just far enough and spit in his palm before passing it over his cock. He kicked at Hanamiya's feet, forcing him to spread his legs wider, and pushed into Hanamiya on one hard stroke.

Hanamiya made a strangled sound, shuddering. "Too much," he whimpered. "Senpai, _please_—"

Shouichi froze against him, shaken and on the verge of panic—what was he _doing_, punishing Hanamiya for his own failures?—and then Hanamiya laughed, smirking over his shoulder, his eyes filled with mirth. "You should _see_ the look on your face."

"You son of a bitch," Shouichi breathed, but it was as good as a slap in the face for bringing him back to his senses. He leaned forward and caught Hanamiya's mouth, biting down on his lip and holding him, and closed his free hand on Hanamiya's hip to hold him in place for it as he began to move.

The raw friction of fucking Hanamiya burned up his spine, demanding more, but Shouichi fucked Hanamiya slowly, driving into him deep and hard. He still knew just the way to do it, what angle it took to drive gasps out of Hanamiya with every pass, until he had him panting and straining against his hands. He kept his pace slow even after Hanamiya was all but writhing in his hands and swearing breathlessly, and it was only then that Shouichi reached down and fisted him off. Hanamiya went silent as he came, his body wringing even tighter around Shouichi's cock, but Shouichi bit his lip and kept fucking him, refusing to let him come down. He forced him over the edge again, and again after that, until Hanamiya's voice changed, turned raw and almost genuine, as he said, "_Imayoshi_."

He pulled out and knocked his knees against the backs of Hanamiya's. That was all it took to bring him down. As Hanamiya sagged to the blacktop, gasping, Shouichi seized his hair and yanked his head back. He gripped his cock and jerked it with his come-slick palm; all he needed was a couple hard strokes and he was coming all over the outraged lines of Hanamiya's face, orgasm searing through him and leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

He released Hanamiya, breathing hard, and wiped his hand on Hanamiya's shoulder as he stepped back. "Thanks for the comfort, Hanamiya-kun," Shouichi said as he pulled his pants back up. "See you around."

He turned and walked away swiftly, before Hanamiya could respond, and closed his ears to the torrent of abuse that followed him out of the alley.

For the life of him, Shouichi could not have said which one of them had won that round.

**end**

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